


Underneath the Apple Trees

by backintimeforstuff



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Light Angst, Sort Of, a random one shot, and a birthday party, involving Amy's childhood cat Biggles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:27:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29088303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/backintimeforstuff/pseuds/backintimeforstuff
Summary: On Amy's birthday, the Doctor goes back in time for a bit of a laugh.
Relationships: Eleventh Doctor/Amy Pond
Kudos: 6





	Underneath the Apple Trees

Looking back on it, the Doctor thinks, he should never have done it. In his capacity as ancient Time Lord, frankly, it was irresponsible and downright insane. 

He should never have let his ideas run away from him like they did, never let Amy get to him in the way she always seems to.

He hates that he can never deny her, regardless of what she asks of him, whatever she implies. For her, he’d do anything, and it scares him completely because he never even stops to think.  
He supposes in the moment, caught somewhere between her flippant remarks and the console of his time ship, the idea was too good to resist. 

Going back into her own timestream for a bit of a laugh – well, what was that amongst friends? Even if the laws of time seemed to protest, there was no stopping it. Amy was in dangerously carefree sort of mood, and he’d hate to disappoint her. 

Large as life, she’d met him in the library, swinging her arms around and leaning over the back of his winged chair. 

“Do you know what tomorrow is?” 

“…A Thursday?” He’d looked up at her with a somewhat bemused expression. 

“Very clever.”

“Well, if we’re going by your Mayan calendar, it will be-”

“My birthday.”

Of course, then, he’d stopped dead and started at her. He’d held his breath and thought hard about it, under the gaze of hazel eyes and crimson nail varnish. _Her birthday._ Twenty-two, no doubt. 

And that’s why he’s ended up here. Flicking console switches at the crack of dawn, before she’s even up yet. 

As surprises go, for a man at the helm of a time machine, they shouldn’t be too difficult. Anyone would be impressed by the height of Ancient Rome, by a trip out in the 83rd century – they’d be spellbound by alien races and carnivals of light and colour and all the rest of it. 

But Amy Pond isn’t _anyone._

In all of their madcap escapades, he’s found, she’s more interested in the small things. She’s stared Winston Churchill and a fleet of Daleks in the face before, only to set her sights on humanity and one fading sunset. On the brink of death in a wooded forest, and all she wanted to do afterwards was to skim rocks on the water and spend time with him, sitting in her old bedroom at the stroke of midnight.

It’s why he draws her little pictures on old cinema tickets, why he’s taken to buying little souvenirs to mark their time together. Its why he’s standing here right now – the reflection of the atom accelerator glinting in his eyes and off into the dusk. 

She doesn’t want a big party, and he knows that. 

The Amy who would’ve once turned up at a stag night with a miniskirt and a kiss on her lips has long since faded. The girl he’s travelling with now – while stubborn at the best of times and hell bent on getting her way – would still much rather watch the sun go down from the doors of an old library, sit by the fire with hot chocolate in her hands and reminisce about the turn of the Earth as the stars drift past outside her window. 

No doubt, going all out at a glitzy Hollywood party or a French masquerade ball is always a laugh, but they’re not really that important. Tonight, he thinks, he might just give her something a little special. A little more nostalgic. Maybe tonight it might just be the two of them. 

_Or the three of them._

An idea comes to him. Could he pull it off? Could he really? He pictures Amy’s face lighting up at the thought of it. And that’s exactly what makes him give in.

\--- 

It’s dark out when he finally makes it to Leadworth. Treading carefully through the long grass, he’s trying not to be heard, sticking the TARDIS engines on silent just to be doubly sure. 

He eyes the empty beehive and the red pinwheel, casting his gaze around for the owls in the tree tops, the glistening stars, and the lonely light streaming from Amy’s bedroom window. 

It’s the weekend short of Easter, in April 2000 A.D. 

How old must she be now, that little girl - eleven? twelve? Old enough to have grown out of imaginary friends and fairy-tales. 

Perhaps tonight he might make a point of knocking on her front door, earlier than planned, coming back for her at last and taking her on adventures she could only ever dream about. 

But that’s not why he’s here.

Feeling his way to the apple tree at the end of the garden, the Doctor scouts around, waiting for movement in the bushes and a rustling of leaves. Maybe tonight, he might just get lucky. He doesn’t have to wait long. 

Biggles the Norwegian Forest cat comes ambling into the clearing, speckled brown and fluffy all over. By Amy’s time – her grown up time – he must have been gone for years. Getting to see him again is less of birthday party, more of a _present._

He doesn’t really think about how insane that sounds until later.

Biggles is friendly enough, and happy to oblige – rolling over in the grass for a petting and a head scratch.

The Doctor nods back to Amy’s bedroom, careful to keep out of sight. _Has she told you about me?_

The cat gives a quiet meow. Of course, the answer is yes.

As carefully as he can, the Doctor takes Biggles into his arms and stands up straight, looking somewhat ridiculous carrying a large cat through the night. He’s just going to borrow him for a bit. He hopes Amy won’t mind. 

\--- 

Inside the TARDIS, Biggles seems largely unfazed, choosing to leap onto the jump seat and up onto the console, picking his way through the maze of levers and buttons. The cat’s version of – _it’s bigger on the inside_ – comes out in the form of a questioning hiss, and the Doctor pats him on the head with a laugh. 

_I know._

Piloting somewhere safe in the Time Vortex, the Doctor amuses himself by running fingers through Biggles’ fur; passing the time and keeping the animal occupied. God knows how long it might be until Amy wakes up, or what she might say when she sees the two of them. He hopes he can keep it a surprise.

Eventually, at around 8 am, when the Doctor’s locked Biggles temporarily in the kitchen with a bowl of tuna – Amy comes bounding down the stairs like a child on Christmas morning – all giddy and smiles all over.

“Hey, mister.”

“Hello Pond.” The Doctor says, nonchalantly, as if it were a random Tuesday afternoon, and not the most important Thursday Amy can remember. He’s trying so hard to keep it casual, to not let on that anything might be out of the ordinary. “Had a good night?”

“I… yes.” Amy stops in her tracks, looking at him strangely, as if she’s expecting streamers and birthday cakes with strawberry icing. “…Did you?”

The Doctor shrugs, a slight smile slipping on his lips. “Hard to say. Met a friend of yours. Happy birthday, by the way.” And before she can say anything, he’s pulling her into a hug, leaning up against the console. Dear Amelia, he thinks, with all your shining red hair and freckles like constellations. Twenty-two today and still as wise and kind and beautiful as the age-old universe.

“You’ve got a suspicious face on.” Amy says, finally drawing away, raising an eyebrow at the sight of him. “What’s this about meeting a friend?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” It’s a blasé as he can be. It lasts for a full five seconds. “Alright, maybe I do. Maybe I got you a present.”

Amy’s eyes light up. “You didn’t.” 

“Maybe I _did._ ”

“Ha!” She punches him on the arm. “Knew it.”

“Tell you what, why don’t you wait here, and I’ll go and – ugh – fetch… it?”

Amy gives him her standard questioning gaze, but the Doctor thinks he’s been let off the hook.

With a cheerful thumbs up, he speed-walks back to the TARDIS kitchen, scoops the cat into his arms and makes for the control room again, patting Biggles inconsistently on the head as he goes.

_Are you going to be a nice, playful present for Miss Pond today, Biggsy? She’ll be very happy to see you._

The cat says nothing. The Doctor laughs. 

When he’s metres from the top of the stairs, he calls out to Amy. “Close your eyes, why don’t you?”

When she does, when he ambles down the staircase to stand in front of her – and presents Amy with the cat she hasn’t seen for a lifetime. 

There’s a moment of silence.

“…Oh my god.” 

Amy’s reaction is not an excited exclamation, far from it in fact. It’s disbelief tinged with an acute sadness, something that tells the Doctor this all might have been a really, really stupid mistake.

“…Amy?”

“It’s nothing.” Those two words do little to hide the teardrop that runs the length of her cheek, shattering on the floor like a crystal. She’s staring at Biggles like she can’t quite believe he’s real. “…Thank you.” 

“Look I didn’t mean to…” The Doctor’s in two minds about dropping this whole thing all together, backtracking as fast as he can and finding some glitzy Hollywood party to waste the day away to instead. Biggles can go back to his home under the apple trees and he and Amy never have to speak of this. Instead, Amy reaches out and takes the cat from him, curious as they all are to see how this all might play out.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Amy says, glassy eyed all over. “It’s been a while.”

The cat purrs.

\--- 

They’re sitting in the library when Amy speaks again. Biggles is curled up her lap, being petted to no end, and the Doctor’s a few feet away.

“Aunt Sharron bought me a cat after the first round of physiatry.” Amy laughs quietly, almost distant. Despite the early morning, there’s a coal fire crackling in the grate and as she runs a hand through the cat’s fur, a second tear falls. “I suppose she thought it might be a distraction, y’know, a cure for having an imaginary friend.” 

It’s been a while since the Doctor’s been able to look at her. “…I’m sorry.”

Amy shrugs, “It’s not your fault.” But the Doctor’s all too painfully aware that it _is_ , really. Someone needs to be held accountable for the mess they’ve ended up in, shoulder the blame for screwing over a birthday and the fourteen years she won’t ever get back. Amy seems to know what he’s thinking. “All those years of waiting, y’know, I don’t blame you for that. You didn’t exactly intend them.”

“Doesn’t change much.” 

“Why would I want it changed?” Amy’s staring at him as if she can’t quite believe what she’s hearing. “You _came back for me._ It’s all the matters.”

“But I-”

“It’s _all that matters._ ” She looks down at the cat, now finally asleep. “And anyway, it was nice to get to know a friend.” She thinks about it, and finally manages to laugh. “I used to tell him about you.” The Doctor knows, of course, but he elects to listen. “He used to curl up at foot of my bed and I’d tell him, _Biggsy, there’s this ridiculous magic hero coming back for me._ God, I must have sounded insane.”

The Doctor inclines his head. “I very much doubt that.”

Amy smiles. “I guess we’ll never know. It’s just all noises to them isn’t it, cats?”

“You’d be surprised.” 

“…What?” There’s a silence.

The Doctor shrugs. He supposes it’s now or never. “I talk to cats.” 

“Everyone talks to cats," Amy points out. "Case in point?” 

The Doctor smiles. “No, but I mean, literally. I _talk_ to cats. I talk _cat_ , for want of a better phrase. Biggles can, ugh, understand me.”

“Get out of here.” 

“It’s true.”

“ _And?_ ” 

“And, he believed you. All those years ago, being told about a mad man in a time machine - he had no reason not to.”

\---

“We could always take him with us?” 

Back in the control room, the Doctor’s holding Biggles awkwardly in his arms again, standing by the police box door. “You, me, Biggles the cat, all of time and space?” 

Amy has to laugh. “And he’d be okay with that?” 

“I’ve already asked.” Almost in confirmation, the cat meows. “…You could have more time with him that way.”

Amy thinks back to the little girl waiting in a garden, a lonely light shining from her bedroom window. And shakes her head. “ _She_ needs him more than I do.” The Doctor supposes she’s right. As a final goodbye, Amy gives one last kiss to the cat in his arms. “See you, Biggsy.”

\--

Out in the open Leadworth air, it’s raining. Easter 2000 is definitely a wet one. As gently as he can, the Doctor walks through the mist, letting Biggles down undeath the apple trees.

“Go, Biggsy. Inside, before you get cold, and before Amy sees either of us. Any fish custard she might give you is on me.”

He smiles as the cat turns away, slipping in through the flap in the front door. Maybe, there’s just one thing left to do.

\---

The next thing Amy knows, the Doctor’s clattering back into the TARDIS, flattening his damp fringe and presenting her with a tub of ice-cream. “You didn't see me, so you'll never know, but I nicked this from your fridge. Happy birthday.” 

“You’re unbelievable.” 

“At least I’m not _imaginary._ ” He makes his way up the steps to the console, pressing buttons and fiddling with levers. He refuses to look at her.

Amy narrows her eyes. Ice-cream immediately followed by silent treatment? “You okay?”

“Are _you?_ ” He’s dying to know.

“…What you did - Biggles, all of the rest of it - it was nice of you.”

“So, I didn’t completely wreck your birthday?” He’s at least hopeful. Amy smiles.

“It’d take a glitzy Hollywood party to ruin _that_.”

The Doctor’s got his hand on the atom accelerator, ready to strike. “Well then. Let’s go and find one.”


End file.
